This is a poem I wrote for my sweet wife a few years ago. It was published in the third volume of The Molehill and I post it here because it’s February, when people talk about love and stuff.

You are beautiful in ways
You cannot see. Beautiful
In light and motion and grace,
In patience, in the little
Smile that is your first instinct
When you’re anxious or happy,
Or shy—even sad. In fact,
Your loveliest smile may be
The one you show me then:
When all that is left is you,
When at last your strength is spent,
When the plant has lost its bloom,
When you can no longer pretend
That your fear has no power;
Then, my love, you reach the end
And I can see your finest flower.